God's Macaroni Necklace

"Here, Mama!"

She shoved a rattling string of wooden beads in my face with a beaming smile and gripping fist.  Her eyes danced with pride as she waiting for my reaction. 

"Oh, Honey!  It's absolutely beautiful! Did you make this for me?"

"Uh huh!"

I reached for the necklace and she released her clutch, dropping it into my open hands.  A long necklace of beads and painted wood butterflies as big as silver dollars lay in a pile before me in my palms.  The ornaments were polka-dotted and colored in every bright pastel hue you can think of.  She waited beside me as I stood up to put it over my head and glance into the mirror over the buffet in my dining room.  It looked more like a lei than a necklace.  I smoothed my hands over the butterflies.

"It's really nice, Honey!"

"Are you go to wear it to church?"

I am team teaching a bible study on Tuesday mornings until January.  We were readying ourselves to head out the door when she handed me my surprise.  I hadn't considered that a lei of clanking butterflies would be perfect with my carefully selected outfit. 

"Oh, um.  Well, of course. Yes, I will wear it to church."

I left it on and hoped that I would remember to remove it after I dropped my daughter off at the babysitting room in the building but I forgot about it in the chaos of setting my stuff down on a table and trying to find the child care provider so I could leave Carli to play.  I finally got her settled so I could set up for the lcass when I found one of my teachmates in the study room.  We were reviewing what the morning would be like when I noticed that she kept glancing at my blouse.  It took about 4 times for me to get what was distracting her.  It was my butterflies.  I grasped the beads when I figured it out, chuckled and told her about my gift that morning.  We had a laugh and she went on to tell me about a scarf that her daughter had knit for her in junior high school.

"You don't know how many mornings I'd leave that on just long enough to head out the door and into my car to change into another one."

"I forgot about my necklace.  I didn't want to hurt Carli's feelings."

As I said that I started thinking about what would happen if I'd made a macaroni necklace for God.  I remembered making one for my mom when I was in Kindergarten.  It was an elbow and penne macaroni necklace that was spray painted silver by the teacher.  I was so proud of that necklace.  I couldn't wait for her to wear it.  I am sure she had many of the same thoughts I had about my butterfly one. 

Compared to God's gifts to us, our gifts to Him are like macaroni necklaces.  His gifts are perfect, valuable and hand selected for us.  Our gifts are primitive, easily duplicated and sometimes clumsy.  He loves everyone.  He delights in our efforts to love Him back, just like we do with our children.  His love is perfect though.  I believe He does wear our macaroni necklaces with great pride.  I believe He is eager to show them off to the angels and say, "Look, see what my precious one made for me today."

The Little Me

It's Monday morning.  I roll over with a groan and stretch to the sound of my chirpy pre-schooler who has formally announced the time and is already firing questions at me about our day.  I try to delay the answering in hopes that she will slow down and crawl under the covers for a few more precious minutes of rest.  Like most days, she sits beside me and refuses my unspoken offer of blankets, pushing them away and asking me, "Mama, can we get up now?"

I force my rising and head for the coffee maker.  A couple of hits of my favorite drug and I can try to fien an equal excitement about the day.  The beginning of the week always holds a list of 'To Do's.  Today I don't want to do any of them.  I homeschool my daughter now and though I know there is a lesson scheduled for Monday I am already negotiating how I can do something else by 9:00 AM.  Monday mornings always include the gym.  I need my exercise.  Trust me, the world is a safer place because I work out.  By 10:00 AM I am convinced that I am over tired and under ambitious. 

Against my will, I dress and head for the 'Y' with a crying child who doesn't want to play with the other kids in the playroom while I do my workout.  "Stay home!" she yells as she bounces up and down, shaking her hands and scrunching her face.  I have to admit, it's compelling when normally it is an annoyance.  She settles as we pull into the parking space and I walk her in and down to the babysitting area.  She doesn't even toss back a glance once she sees all of her playmates busying about the toys.  I am still wishing she talked me into her agenda earlier but I am here now so I head to the fitness area.  It's treadmill day.  I don't want to run but I make myself even though I want to hit the stop button about 20 times in the first ten minutes. 

With every step, an ongoing war.  The battlefield is my mind.  The need to discipline myself versus giving in to the desires of the day.  I recalled a buzz word as this went on that I haven't heard since the early 90's.  I remember it very clearly.  It was on the lips of every psychologist and in the discussions of many talk show hosts.  The topic was the Inner Child.  I had a therapist who spent hours with me, helping me to first identify the voice of my inner child, discover what she lacked, and then how to help her.  We spent a lot of time with my eyes closed, picturing what she looked like and how she felt.  Most of my sessions were about her.  This delicate creature within, so damaged.  I had to be careful not to make her worse, I had to tell her that I loved her and that she was safe.  I was even instructed to sit quietly for a half hour every day, give myself a hug, say 'I love you' and see her in my mind surrounded by soft, warming yellow light.  What ever became of her?  I haven't seen her in so long.

She is still there. Her agenda usually doesn't include effort.  She'd rather go willy-nilly, avoiding anything that has to do with work or sacrifice.  I made a french toast breakfast this morning with egg whites.  She wanted eggs, sugar and cinnamon in the mix.  I made two slices, she wanted three and with extra syrup.  I made her have one tablespoon.  She didn't want to go the gym and do penance for any misuse of calories from the weekend, I ignored her whining and got into the car.

I used to spend so much time being careful not to upset her.  I invested so much in making her happy, thinking that if she was that I would be too.  Now, instead of coddling her every whim and weighing it against what I would like to do, I just say, "Get moving!"  Turns out that my inner child needed the one thing everyone told me never give her, a simple spanking. 

Please Accept This Blessing

A day at Wingaersheek Beach last week proved enlightening.  Carli had successfully worn me down about going.  It isn't that I don't like the beach.  I just have a different idea about what to do there than an active 4 year old girl.  Carli squeals and hops toward the water as soon as we put our things down.  She delights in the surf with a beaming joy, begging her reluctant mom with "C'mon Mama, c'mon! Come in with me!".  My aching toes and ankles shock in the frigid water.  She is pulling me like a dog who doesn't know how to walk on a leash with her little arm dragging me further in.  We will do this about 10 times.  We can't just stay in.  We have to leave as soon as we get numb and go play in the sand for 15 minutes and then run back to the water again.  Occasionally this mantra is interrupted by chasing seagulls while yelling 'boo!'.  To Carli, this proves to be hysterical.  She can barely keep her running pace from the laughter.  I am running out of steam about a 1/2 hr into our trip.

My idea of the beach is to park myself in my sand chair, fix it to a slight recline and dig my heels in the sand until it feels comfortable and stay there.  I like to bring a stack of magazines that I have no time for at home and leisurely flip as I either redecorate my home or put together a haute couture wardrobe for the upcoming season all from the laziness of the shore while listening to the hum of fellow beach goers and the slap of the ocean waves.  There is little reason to leave my station.  Imagine my distress when my little baby grew to walk then run and didn't consider the wishes of her mother while visiting the beach.  If I want to read a magazine these days, I have to get used to reading it in 5 minute increments and only when Carli is satisfied to dig by herself for a spell.  No, my fond summer respite has become a mission to corral someone who can't swim and is too friendly to not want to wander off with whomever pays attention to her. 

I endure it because she likes it.  We get to be together and I watch my child enjoy herself even if it means that I have to run around and try to keep up with her while I opine for my chair.  Wingaersheek Beach was a first time trip for Carli.  I was happy to find showers, bathrooms and  a snack shack so close to the shore and Carli was elated to find a sign that she could recognize, a picture of an ice cream. 

"Ice cream, Mama!" she sang out as I held her little hand in my right and tried to hold and balance everything else with my left. 

"Yup, later.  Okay?", I tried to reassure her that it was coming but not right now. 

Who doesn't like a frozen treat after a day at the beach?  I couldn't blame her.  I just didn't want to indulge her at 10 in the morning.  We had to visit the rest room two times and each time I heard the same thing, "Can I get an ice cream, Mama?". 

It came time for lunch which we ate at the snack shack.  I didn't bring much for myself and I knew if I was going to buy lunch for me, I'd need to get some for her. She would not be happy with Goldfish and cut up Smart Dogs while watching mom eat something that came in a cardboard box and wax paper.  We sidled up to the window with a smiling face peering out and placed our order.  The cost of our lunches, most of hers of which I tossed in the garbage, cost about as much as the interest on the national debt.  Lunch plus the cost of parking took all but a dollar out of my wallet.  No worries, ice cream would still be had.  I just would use my debit card.

I announced that we'd get ice creams when we were leaving.  No need to get them now, we just ate.  When the beach ran it's course with Carli after many sessions of dragging mom into the water, chasing the poor water birds, digging and seashell hunts, she announced that it was time to go home.  I agreed.  I was exhausted.  We packed up and made our way to the snack shack, discussing what she wanted before we could even see the building.  We returned to the ordering window and my heart sank as I read the sign, "Credit Card Purchases -$10 Minimum Requirement".  I certainly wasn't going to buy 10 dollars worth of stuff for a 2 dollar ice cream.  I looked down at my wide-eyed little girl and tried to gently explain the situation. 

"Honey, Mama doesn't have any cash on her and the man won't let Mama buy the ice cream with her debit card."

Sadness and confusion covered her face and her smile disappeared as she tried to take in what I said.  I felt so terrible that I was doing to have to disappoint her.  My mind ran with remorse over not just paying for lunch with the debit card and leaving more cash in my wallet. I thought of how foolish it was of me not to check beforehand.  I also didn't want her to start crying.  I tried to explain again and smooth it over with a promise to get ice cream somewhere else.  She didn't want to go elsewhere, she wanted the treat I had been promising her all day and she wanted it at the beach.  As I continued to reassure her a woman came up to me and held out her hand. 

"Here, just take this." she smiled and stuck out 2 dollars and 50 cents in my direction.

I hesitated.   I was so touched by her generosity and strangely ashamed to take it from her.  She stuck her hand out again and I took the money from her grasp slowly, thanking her with a sincere quiet humility.  I ordered Carli's ice cream and took it back to our spot for her to enjoy.  The waves of shame still washed over me as I watched her eat it.  I felt silly for feeling that way.  I didn't do anything wrong and I wasn't a charity case and even if I was, couldn't I allow someone to bless my daughter? 

This woman had two children with her.  She understood what it was like to let a little one down.  She wanted to save the day and I almost didn't want her to.  I had forgotten in that moment what a gift it is to bless other people, especially when the blessing is anonymous.  As I reflected on what had happened, I realized what a gift I had given her by allowing her to bless my daughter.  The times I have bestowed this on others were the moments of the greatest joy.  There was a much bigger gift here than just a 2 dollar ice cream.  I connected with another human being in love. To me, that is worth not having enough money in my wallet.  Who ever you are, Ma'am, thank you. 

Standing True

Hatred.  The word is like a punch in the face.  The very diction has a poignant hiss.  When I've heard the word said, I notice that there seems to be well placed emphasis on the sound of the first letter.  It's like the speaker wants to you to listen up and take notice of what's coming.  No one ever asks what it means.  It always leaves me with a slimy feeling in my spirit to hear the word spoken.

I've been on both sides of the fence.  Lately, it's me feeling the sting.  Not an overwhelming blow that takes you out in one round but a constant stream of short little snaps.  Just when you think that last one stopped smarting it comes again. Snap!  I wish it would stop but it's not going to.  It might even get worse.  You see, I've lived my life pretty harmoniously with most people all my life.  I wanted to blend, fit in.  Sure, I had this thing that I knew deep down inside me.  I told a few people about it and they promised not to judge.  They seemed to be fine with it as long as I never talked about it. I would make them feel uncomfortable, they claimed.  By seeking to win their approval, I agreed.  I could try to live a normal life and forget about what I knew about me.  That nagging, that longing to just be me.  I hid it for so long.  I thought, no one would like me if they knew and once you make a statement like that publicly, well you'd better start living up to it.  No, best not to rock the boat. Besides, what would people think?

The truth about me almost got forgotten for a little while.  I did such a good job of blending in that I even forgot what I knew about me.  You can get good at keeping secrets for a while. Some lies can go on for so long that even you can start to believe them.  Then I thought, I could live two lives.  Lots of people do it.  There could be the me that everyone sees and then the me that only certain people see.  I could do that.  What would it hurt?  It would be better than just keeping it all inside.  I could have my little outlet and then I could go back to the me that the world sees and everyone would be happy, except me.  What if the little crowd of people who knew the real me saw me out with the rest of the world acting like them?  What would I say?  Could I tell my little crowd who I was on the outside?  Certainly not.  They would be upset with me. They'd tell me that I really wasn't like them if I had to hide so I just kept the outside me to myself with my little crowd and hoped that the two would never mix.  I thought it would be easy but it started getting really complicated. 

There came a day of reckoning between the two.  I decided that I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not. I was tired of feeling ashamed of living two lives and never feeling complete.  It's funny, when you have a day like that you all of the sudden don't care what people think any more.  You just want to be you.  You don't care who knows you or what they say about you. You just want to be you and have everyone love you for who you are or go away quietly. 

I tell everyone about who I am now.  I am freer than I've ever been. I've never known joy and peace like I do now.  I am loved, wanted, secure and protected.  I am whole now.  It isn't without it's price though.  I had plenty of friends, family even, who told me they loved me for who I am.  I believed them. I believe that they almost think that it's true, but they don't.  They tell me they accept who I am but then go on and make fun of people just like me.  They make jokes, post cartoons making fun of who I am.  They criticize what I stand for and what I love about who I am.  They tell me that I am okay, it is just the others like me that they don't like.  Why am I special?  Snap!  It stings.  Every mention, sneer, jab, joke, sarcastic comment hurts a little at a time.  Snap!  I try to stand up for myself and all I get is that they are sorry to offend but they don't stop. They want people like me to feel bad about who we are. It's not right, it's not fair but if I want to stand true I am going to have to take a few hits.  It's worth it.  Being content with who I am is a great payment for the pain. 

People who claim that I'm a hater are the ones who hurl the worse things at me. No one wants to have parades to make me feel good about my life decision.  You can say whatever you want about me but make sure you get it right when you call me names.  I am not a bible thumper, a holy roller or a religious nut.  I am a Jesus Freak and I'm proud. 

Forget About Happy

If ever there was a word in the English language that I would like to eradicate from the dictionary, publications and speech it is the word 'happy'.  This word is shear misery dipped in chocolate.  It looks wonderfully appealing from the outside. Who doesn't want some happy?  Everyone is trying to get some, why not you?  There is even a right in the U.S. called the 'Pursuit of Happiness'.  Even our government wants you to have some.  So much so that they made it part of ensuring you'd get some, if you went after it. 

I spent a lot of time hunting it down.  I looked for it in relationships.  They always started off well and I felt happy.  I thought that this was happy then and I settled into thinking I'd found some. It always diminished though.  I didn't feel as happy as I did initially.  I started to think that happy went bad after a while.  I concluded that happiness was not found in relationships.  I moved on.

Disappointed that it was not to be found in another person, I turned my attentions to stuff.  Stuff could surely make me happy.  The commercials always had people on them that looked blissfully happy for having their wares.  I supposed that stuff would give me that happy edge that I was looking for.  I started to buy stuff.  Lots of stuff.  Clothes, jewelry, trips, cars, spa trips but nothing made me happy for very long.  In fact, the more I tried to buy happy, the more stressed out I got.  You can't find it in the mall.  Not to mention, the rub of having to get your credit card bill in the mail to pay for the stuff that didn't make you happy.  Talk about total unhappiness. 

Someone tried to convince me that happy was just a thought away.  I could make myself happy just by making up my mind to be.  Sounded easy enough. Just think happy.  Say, "today I am happy".  Focus on happy thoughts and immediately dismiss the thoughts that make you unhappy.  I started out with the best of intentions but when you aren't happy, trying to think yourself happy just makes you frustrated.  I couldn't buy happy and I couldn't think myself happy for free.  I kept trying.

All the times I had a glimpse of happy only to see it go away so easily.  Maybe you need to pursue it because it keeps leaving.  Is that how you keep it, you run after it?  Maybe happy likes to play games.  Maybe that is what makes happy feel happy by making you cranky.  I don't want happy any more if that is how happy wants to treat me.  I give up.

I've got a new thing.  It started a year and a half ago.  It's called joy.  It's way better than happy.  I love joy because it usually brings it's best friend, peace.  This whole time, peace was just waiting for me to give up looking for happy and come find joy.  The good news is that peace does not come from anyone one person.  You can't buy joy because it isn't for sale.  There is no need to run after it because it doesn't leave you unless you want it to go away.  There is only one way to find it.  Stop running, be quiet and ask God the joy that can only be found in Him. 

I'm Stuck

"Dad, I'm stuck!", drew my attention to the left on the playground as I was pushing my squealing daughter on the swings.  My mother's instinct to attend to the needs of a child and tendency to be nosey, even if it is just visual, drew me in the direction of what I heard.  My eyes found the little boy that I heard perched on top of a large jungle gym made out of a maze of ropes and pulleys anchored to large wooden poles.  He looked like a cricket with a baseball cap sitting on top of the world's largest ball of twine. 

His father called out to him from across the playground as he started walking toward him.  "Just start climbing down, son."  Even as the words came out, the little boy started shifting back and forth on his perch, holding on for dear life.

"I can't.  I'm stuck."  My heart rate picked up as I watched him.  The more his father yelled out to him to just come down the more he seemed to dig his feet into the ropes he was standing on.  It was as if he was frozen in place.  His father stood at the bottom, looking up and him and shading his eyes from the son as he tried to coach his son down from the top of the jungle gym.

"Just put your foot over there and grasp on to that rope and climb down!"

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You got up there and now you can get yourself back down."

"I can't."

"Son, why can't you?"

"I'm scared."

Isn't that it with most things we are paralyzed by?  I don't know how many times we remain stuck in the same place, same relationships, same job, same situations.   When the pace of my heart quickened as I listened to the little boy tell his dad that he was stuck, I wasn't worried about his safety.  My body was remembering what that kind of anxiety feels like and responded.  It was familiar. 

I remember one relationship I was in that made me miserable.  I lamented to my friends often about how unhappy this person made me.  I didn't see any hope for a happy future with him.  Despite the tension of misery followed by gifts and promises to be better from now on, nothing changed.  I knew it was not going to but I continued to play the game.  On more than five occasions, friends told me to end the relationship.  Just leave him.  I couldn't.  I had reasons, I had excuses.  We shared a house, we shared bills.  What about our friends?  What about the dog?  No, our lives were too intertwined.  It wasn't that though.  None of the reasons were valid.  I wasn't imprisoned by this situation.  I was afraid to change it. 

Fear of change seems to be something most people suffer from.  I am no different.  Change equals new and feels scary.  I know.  I am learning too but I feel as though my life has changed so much in the last two years that maybe I am just getting desensitized to it.  Maybe it just takes climbing the jungle gyms of life enough times to know that we can do it without falling.  Hands and feet could slip.  Maybe our baseball cap falls to the ground as we make your way up or down but we can pick it up later.   We see other people climbing on the same jungle gym too, they seem okay but when it comes to us we can envision cataclysmic disaster in an instant.  In an effort to avoid calamity we don't move.  I know I've made mistakes, big ones too but I'm still here to tell you about them.  Funny thing is, the more we fall down, the better we get at climbing. 

The Pretty Girl

"Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain...." Proverbs 31:30

All I ever wanted, every summer of my high school years, was to return to school in the fall thin, pretty and cooler than I was last year.  I would watch MTV videos and flip through Seventeen magazine or the occasional Cosmo and pour over the fashions that were overwhelmingly adorable on girls built like surfboards.  I was a little more, as the current term is, curvy.  I would be less politically correct to say that I was pudgy.  As if that weren't enough, I had a wonderful case of acne that sent me crying into my room on many occasions.  It probably would have served me better to be a wallflower in those times but my exuberant personality didn't allow for that.  Instead, I became an eccentric metal chick.  I was proud of my leopard skin jeans, cowboy boots with spurs and lion mane of jet black hair.  If I couldn't be the homecoming queen, I'd still stand out.  I was voted Class Individualist in my senior year.  A title I was proud of. 

My rotund physique disappeared some time later along with the acne but the self-esteem didn't improve.  I always wanted attention from boys but when I did finally win some I felt awkward and under confident.  I wished I could be more like some of my friends. They seemed to have a new guy every other week.  Me?  I was the funny girl that all the boys seemed to think of more like a kid sister. Don't get me wrong, it had it's perks.  For one, I was heavy into the music scene in Boston.  I was on guest lists without any strings attached and I wasn't referred to as a groupie.  I was one of the cool girls but not one of the pretty ones you ask out on dates.  I tried to learn to accept my lot. 

I have been looking back at all of this over the last few days because now I am what I always wanted to be and to be honest, it isn't what I thought it would be. I am an attractive woman, especially for a person near 40.  My looks have come into their own and I dress for my age with a unique flair. I am comfortable with me.  What rubs me the wrong way is that seems to be what people notice about me first.  I am also a very intelligent person.  My mind overflows with ideas and creativity, literally every day.  It pours out of me.  If there is any one word that people use to describe their experience with me, it's inspiring.  I am humbled by that title.  I don't do anything to achieve it other than share the life the God has given me with other people.  I am more than just a pretty face.  When I was younger, that is all that I wanted to be.  It's funny how I've been given what I always longed for in my naive years and God has shown me that it isn't the be all, end all of everything.  Certainly my beauty is a gift but I love the other gifts so much more.  The grass is not greener on the other side of the fence and to be sure, it still has weeds and needs to be mowed.